Out of Ashes
by Morkhan
Summary: Adam gets his wings clipped.  Sam helps him put his feathers back in order.  Unfortunately, that's just the beginning of their problems… Sequel to 'Lift Me Up.'  Spoilers for the whole series.
1. Falling for the First Time

**Title:** Out of Ashes [1/?]  
**Author:** **morkhan**  
**Warnings:** Slight cursing. Barfing.  
**Characters:** Sam, Adam, Dean, Minor OFC, background Lisa and Ben.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 6307  
**Summary:** Adam accidentally gets his wings clipped. Sam helps him put his feathers back in order. Unfortunately, that's just the beginning of their problems… Sequel to 'Lift Me Up.' Spoilers for the whole series.  
**Disclaimer**: I make no money from this, nor should I—it is simply a tribute to the fine actors and writers who portray these characters that have captured my imagination and rather kinkily tied it to a chair. ;)

**Author's Notes**: Hello again! I must apologize for my absence—I was getting ready to post another story in the 'Bump' series, but I got home one day to find that my computer would not turn on. Long story short, the motherboard was fried beyond repair and a new computer had to be secured. I was more than a little disheartened that all my hard work was destroyed, but I managed to recover a bit of inspiration and came up with this story instead. It's my first multi-chapter fic (at least, my first that was intended to be a multi-chapter from the start) and—more importantly—my first WIP. I have the whole thing mapped out in my head, I just need to finish that mapping on paper… computer… whatever. :P

Anyway, this is the sequel to _Lift Me Up_, taking place about nine months after the end of that story. This story won't make sense if you don't read that one. All reviews are appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

"So, Ms…"

"Tammy. Tammy Crews," the woman replies, flashing him what she probably thinks is an eyelash flutter but actually looks a little more like she's trying to blink a gnat out of her eye. She is a short, somewhat frumpy woman, and the brown skirt she's wearing isn't doing much to help her out, but she's actually got a nice face. Not bad looking overall; Sam would probably take her up on her obvious offer after only a beer or two. Maybe even sober, if it had been a while.

"Ms. Crews," he continues, smiling just enough to let her think he is a possibility. "Start at the beginning. When did you first notice something was… _off_?"

"Well," she said, bringing her finger up to her lips. "About three days ago when I got to work, the second I sat down I thought something was kind of funny. My chair wouldn't roll 'cause the floor was all lumpy and uneven. At first I just thought the place had finally gone rotten—this courthouse is like a hundred years old—but then…"

"…then the roots started coming in," Sam finished for her.

"Yep," she nods. "Roots were sticking up out of the floor the next day when I got here, and the walls were sprouting leaves." Sam looks past her to the mass of vines creeping up the wall, the uneven patterns and strange shape of the vines spider-webbing in and out of the wallpaper like veins, making the old building seem like an enormous living creature. The vines look like vessels—blood vessels, that is—and Sam wants to snort at the irony.

"And all of this happened within the past three days?" Sam asks, playing the part of the investigator with ease. It is, technically, what he does, so it's not too much of a stretch.

"Yep," she nods again. "It's so weird. I mean, how does a plant like this even grow from _underneath_ a courthouse? Don't they need sunlight or something? I mean, I didn't pay a whole lot of attention in biology, but I think I remember that much."

"Well, Ms. Crews, that's what I'm trying to figure out." The courthouse is cleared of other occupants due to the fact that all this plant-based weirdness has the unfortunate side effect of making the old building even less structurally sound than it was to begin with (by Sam's estimation, the thing has probably only dodged being condemned by the skin of its teeth). "Now, all this started three days ago. Four _nights_ ago, there were reports of an unidentified object in the sky over downtown Tacoma, with at least three people that saying it made impact near the courthouse. Do you know anything about that?"

Ms. Crews rolls her eyes. "Oh, for the love of... You're one of those stupid tabloid reporters, aren't you? You think this is some kind of alien shit like the rest of the crazies in town. Shit, I should've known better than to talk to someone as shady-looking as you…"

_Shady-looking_? Sam feels a bit offended at that. Maybe playing host to the devil has robbed him a bit of his former innocent charm, but he would hardly describe himself as _shady_. Whatever. The lady is leaving and he isn't done with her yet. He needs to find an unshady way of keeping her here. "No, Ms. Crews, I don't think anything yet. I want as many facts as I can get before I start drawing a conclusion. No sense in putting the cart before the horse, right?" He fires a disarming grin at her and she returns his volley with a smile of her own, adding a little spin with a hint of lust. Point: Winchester.

"Well, I guess I can't argue with that logic," she admits.

Sam is about to press a little further when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. A vagrant has entered the courthouse lobby and is approaching the mass of vines with a strange sense of purpose. It isn't until the filthy looking man is right on top of them that the man's identity becomes clear, and the realization is so sudden that he can't stop it from springing out of his mouth like a jack-in-the-Sam. "_Adam_?"

The 'hobo' grinds to a halt and pivots to look at Sam with incredible speed. He is wearing tattered, torn clothes, covered in dirt and grime, and looking like he lost a fight with a small army of possessed tractors, but there is no mistaking his face, and there is definitely no escaping the sudden sunrise of _joy_ on that face upon seeing him. "**Sam!**" he shouts, and sprints towards him, launching into an unrestrained tackle-hug that nearly knocks the 6'5 Winchester on his ass. Adam seems to be making a genuine, if unintentional attempt to squeeze the years out of Sam's life, which is not a good thing, but a more pressing matter at the moment, is how unbelievably badly Adam is blasting Sam's cover into unrecognizable pieces of char. Tammy is staring at them both like she can't decide whether to gag or run away while they're distracted.

"Adam!" Sam says, carefully prying his semi-celestial sibling off of him. "Were you able to figure out what's causing this while you were _digging in the dirt outside_?" he says pointedly, looking directly into Adam's eyes to make sure the point is well-communicated.

It takes him a second, but eventually, Adam nods, falling easily back into routine. "Oh, yeah, yeah. Absolutely." He looks beyond Tammy to the growing truckload of flora. "I can absolutely, 100% _guarantee_ you that I know exactly what is causing this."

Sam glances over at Tammy. They haven't completely lost her yet. Good, now they just need to follow through on the story and they can get out of here without anyone calling the police. "And?" he prods Adam. "Is it what I think it is?"

Adam looks at Sam like he's trying to read his mind. Which he might well be. "…yes. It's… ummm… it's that." Okay, not so much with the mind reading.

Tammy takes this opportunity to butt in. "And what exactly _is_ it?"

Sam is momentarily flabbergasted. His brain scrambles for a half-believable lie. Surprisingly, it is Adam who steps in to save him with a slightly edited truth. "Extremely high levels of unusual, possibly radioactive energy, likely originating from extraterrestrial phenomena in the upper atmosphere."

Tammy rolls her eyes. "I knew it! You think it's aliens."

Sam smiles gently and stops her from turning the ignition on her indignation. "Ma'am, _extraterrestrial_ just means that it didn't originate on earth."

Tammy raises a finger to point at him, but seems to deflate when the point catches up to her. "…oh."

"You probably don't want to be around during clean-up," Adam says gently. "This stuff can be highly dangerous if handled improperly."

"Dangerous how?" she says. "I've been around it for days, and nothing's happened to me!"

"Well, it has been known to cause extremely painful eye problems, up to and including permanent blindness," Adam says gravely. "I just don't want anything to happen to you, miss," he adds, unleashing the full power of his puppy-dog eyes. Even covered in filth, Adam's doe-eyed innocent look defrosts the unsuspecting secretary nigh-instantly. _Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta taa, puppy power._

"Well… thank you. I guess," she says, sighing. "This is all a little too weird for me anyway. I knew I should've taken that job at Kinko's…" And she leaves without a look back at either of them.

No law enforcement, cover remains intact. All-in-all, things could've gone much worse. And now that Tammy is out of his hair, he can focus on getting answers to the hundred or so questions that just walked in and gave him a hug. "Nice job keeping my cover, there," he says. Even before he angel'd up, Adam could be Hell to carry on a con because he seemed damn-near incapable of lying. It was a careful process, teaching him how to corroborate his brothers' stories without _actually_ telling any untruths: the art of lying without lying. He knew that pre-law education would come in handy someday…

"Thanks," Adam grins, before turning his attention back to the Miracle Growth.

"That's yours, I assume?" Sam asks.

Adam nods, wincing slightly. "Yeah. I… took a little fall."

"You _Fell_?" Sam asks, more than a little shocked.

Adam looks at him oddly for a second, before realizing the difference between what he said and what Sam heard. "Oh, no, no. Not, like, capital-F Fell… I just, fell. Or got _pushed_, anyway."

"Are you okay?" Sam asks. "You look like Hell, man." Now that Sam has a closer look at him, he can see the cuts on Adam's face and the deep, dark shadows under his eyes. His skin looks worn and weather-beaten, and he's thinner than Sam remembers. According to Tammy, the 'comet' was reported three days ago, which means that Adam has been human again for at least that long. The time has not been kind to him.

Adam shakes his head, slipping into an easy grin to reassure his big brother. "Nah. I'm fine." He contemplates the question a bit more. "Little sleepy."

And that's all the warning Sam gets before Adam goes ragdoll-limp and flops to the floor.

* * *

"So, you'll never guess who fell into my lap this morning…" Sam begins.

"_Dude, for the last time. __**TMI.**__ I don't wanna hear about what goes on in your lap. Or on it_."

Sam snorts. "Alright, just remember: you're the one who made this about sex, not me."

"_What's that supposed to mean?_"

"It's Adam."

Silence. "_…oh, __**sick**__. That's just… good job, Sammy. I'm gonna be scrubbing that one out of my brain for days_."

"Yeah, well, that's what you get for turning everything into a dirty joke."

"_So, what's the deal? How is he?_"

"Well, I told you about the case I've been working in Washington, right?"

"_Yeah, kudzu in the courthouse right after some kind of comet. You thought it was another fallen angel."_

"And I was right." Sam waits for Dean to make the connection.

"_Wait... that was __**Adam**__?_"

"That's what he told me," Sam says.

"_Holy shit. What happened?_"

"That's what I'd like to know."

"_Well, gee, Sammy, did you try __**asking**__ him?_"

Sam looks over to the table where his little brother sleeps, a cheap loveseat cushion supporting his head. "He's a little out-of-it right now, Dean. But don't worry; he's alive, and as far as I can tell, OK. Just… a little tired."

Sam hears the sound of movement from the other end of the line, followed by the distinctive jingle of car keys. "_I'll be over there ASAP. Where you staying?_"

Sam sighs. "**No**, Dean. We've been over this—you can't just drop everything and run off like this. You have to at least _warn_ her first. Those were her terms."

"_Sam, my baby brother just got his… __**angel guts**__ ripped out, and_…"

"Dean, your little brother**s** are handling it. We're big boys. I _promise_ I'll tell you if I really think I need your help, but you've got to stay put, man. You spent so long pining over Lisa; it'd be a shame for her to have to kick you to the curb again so soon after taking you back."

Dean is silent on the other end. Sam hears a deep breath. "_You promise?_"

"Cross my heart," Sam says.

A sigh. "_Fine._" Sam hears the keys jingling as Dean tosses them aside.

"How are they?" Sam asks, feeling like kind of a tool for forgetting to ask.

"_Well, considering no one ripped out their guts, I'd say they're pretty alright_."

Sam smiles somewhat ruefully. The conversation is basically over; the price of winning an argument with Dean is an end to all conversation for at least an hour while he sulks. "Great. I'm gonna see if Adam's ready to talk. I'll call you later."

"_You better_." Call Ended.

Sam flips his phone shut and pockets it as he turns back to his slumbering sibling. After he face-planted in the lobby, Sam knew there was no way he could drag an unconscious body from the building without drawing lots of unwanted attention. Thus, he was left with little choice but to drag Adam to a side room and find something semi-comfortable to lay him on. The conference table was not the softest bed in the world, but Sam had at least been able to find some cheap cushions from waiting room furniture to act as pillows. At first, he had been every bit as worried as Dean, but upon giving him the once over, Sam couldn't find anything life-threatening, and since all his vitals were good, Sam figured that Adam really was just _that_ tired. Castiel, towards the end of his fall into humanity, seemed constantly exhausted as well, though Sam suspects that was just as much from depression and discouragement as it was from losing his mojo.

"Sam," Adam's voice knocks him off his train of thought.

"Yeah?" Sam replies.

Adam is laying very still, eyes closed. "Uhhh… 's there a trash can in here?"

Sam spots a small wastebasket in the corner of the room. "Yeah." He grins slightly. "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say you need to—"

"**Now**, please," Adam says urgently, and Sam breaks off his teasing to rush for the little plastic bin. He shoves under Adam just in time to catch _most_ of what comes out of him, which is very watery, from what Sam can tell. "Sorry," Adam grunts when he's done spouting.

"It's okay," Sam says, rubbing soothing circles on Adam's back just like Dean occasionally did for him when he woke up with a hangover. You know, when he wasn't being a tormenting ass instead. "You can pay me back by explaining _what happened_ to you."

Adam winces. "Grace first. Talk later," he grunts.

"Sorry, but no-can-do. Not yet, anyway; it's broad daylight, and there are tons of people around."

Adam's miserable groan would sound childish in any other situation. As it is now, Sam can just give him a sympathetic one-armed hug. It'll be a few hours 'til sundown, at least. They need something to pass the time.

"So, ummm… are you hungry?" he asks… only to find that Adam has already passed out again.

It's gonna be a long afternoon.

* * *

Sam briefly entertains the idea of going to steal some drugs for him, but his Grace will likely be the best medicine anyone can offer, and Sam doesn't like the idea of leaving him alone when he's so vulnerable (and _that_ is a situation he never expected to run into again). So instead, he sits in the room with his KO'd brother, and after painting a just-in-case banishing sigil on the back of the door, passes the time by playing Tetris on his cell phone. He is perilously close to beating his old high score when he notices the world is finally dark enough to send most people to their houses.

"Adam," he says, jostling him gently. "Wake up, buddy. Time to strap your wings back on."

Adam moans and sits up slowly. "Name's not 'Buddy,'" he slurs, before hopping down off the table and starting towards the door.

"Wait," Sam says. "Promise you're not gonna fly off when you're done? I mean it. I want to know what happened to you. You can't let me see you like this and expect me not to worry."

Adam shakes his head. "Sam, I'm _fine_. And to be fair, I… didn't really think I'd run into you," he finishes sheepishly.

"Don't care. Promise you'll tell me what happened, or I'm not letting you out." Sam crosses his arms and moves to stand between Adam and the door.

Adam glares at Sam. "Oh, come on. Like you can actually stop me."

Sam just smiles wider, teeth on display in a surprisingly shark-like smirk. "Actually, I'm pretty sure I can, considering you've got the strength of ten kittens right about now."

Adam looks insulted at that. "Oh, it's on now…" He blinks, eyes going vacant, and Sam swears for a second he forgets why he is there. "Now… now you're gonna… get it. 'Cause… 'cause I'm gonna give it to you. An asskicking, that is." He plasters on a weary imitation of his game face, and moves towards Sam.

To take pity on the poor kid, let's just say that what follows is mildly embarrassing and ends with Adam in a headlock that he has zero hope of breaking. "Say Uncle!" Sam demands.

Adam stops struggling for a second. "…why?"

Sam has to think about that. "I… don't know, actually. Because I'll let you go if you do? I mean, I guess it's supposed to be a humiliating form of surrender, but I don't know why that particular word—"

Adam shrewdly takes advantage of Sam's moment of distraction, and he _almost_ gets away, but in the end, the headlock just transforms into a chokehold, and Adam is worse off than he started. "Say it!" Sam says as he squeezes (just a little) tighter.

"Ow, ow! Okay, fine, Uncle!" Sam's grip slackens and Adam stumbles forward, rubbing his neck and looking thoroughly sulky.

Sam holds his hands up in surrender. "Dude, please. Come on. I just wanna know what's going on."

"Okay," Adam sighs, not quite looking at Sam. "I'm sorry. I promise we can have a… pow-wow, heart-to-heart, whatever, soon as I get back in shape."

"Great." Sam hands Adam a receipt. "That's where I'm staying. Don't… uhhh… don't flare up for a few minutes. I'm gonna try and set up a little distraction for you."

"Okay," Adam says, staring at the receipt with eyes that say he'd like nothing more than to pass out again. He tilts his head slightly to read better and winces a bit, and Sam realizes he might have underestimated just how fragile his little brother really is.

He ruffles his hair as he walks past (and resolves to wash that hand as soon as possible, because seriously, Adam is _gross _right now)."See you soon," Sam says. He hates to leave the kid, but having extracted the promise from him, Sam feels better about seeing him again. Angels can't break promises… right?

* * *

A few minutes later, a dozen or so heads still lingering in the vicinity of the Tacoma City Courthouse snap in near-perfect unison to look towards a small back alley, due to what sounds like several gunshots and a small _explosion_ suddenly erupting from within. Only the backs of heads will catch any kind of light flaring up from within the courthouse, and by the time anyone turns to look, the whole thing will be over. Further investigation of the sounds in the alleyway yields nothing out of the ordinary, and in the end, no one is entirely certain that either event took place at all.

Just as it should be.

* * *

To be honest, he definitely should've expected something like this. After waiting for about half an hour for Adam to show up, Sam decides he might as well take a shower. He heads into the bathroom, pulls back the curtain and—

"Hey, Sam."

—flips the fuck out when he finds Adam standing there waiting for him. He jolts backwards awkwardly, does the backstroke-windmill for a second, and falls right on his ass. "Dude! What the Hell?"

Adam stands with his arms crossed, lips closed in a smug grin. Angel Mojo apparently comes with a free deluxe wash, wax, and dry because both his clothes and his skin are as clean and pristine as if they were new. "Oh, come on. You know you had that coming. Picking on your poor, sick, defenseless little brother..."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Defenseless my ass. You _started_ that fight, and you know it. I just finished it."

Adam steps out of the shower and offers Sam a hand. "Ready for round 2?"

Sam takes it and pulls himself up. "Do I really look that stupid?"

"Yes," Adam says almost instantly.

"Smug little twerp," Sam says. The two have a brief staring contest, before Sam breaks into a grin and finally has the presence of mind to return his little brother's greeting from earlier. "It's good to see you, buddy," Sam says, pulling Adam into a hug.

"I'm not your 'buddy,'" Adam replies, half-heartedly shoving him off and grinning the entire time.

* * *

Sam boots Adam from the bathroom, having already made shower preparations and intending to follow through with them. When he's done, he finds his heavenly hombre reclining on the bed, wholly engrossed in an episode of _The Next Food Network Star_. "Man… that looks _amazing_," he says, turning to Sam. "I didn't realize how much I missed it. Do you know how long it's been since I actually _ate_?"

Sam eyes him carefully as he goes to the other bed, sitting on the edge facing Adam. "Didn't you eat while you were human?"

Adam gives him a rueful grin. "I… kind of… forgot."

Sam's expression is flat. There is no way to communicate how stupid he finds that. "You forgot. To **eat**."

The little angel tries for an innocent grin. "I was… kind of preoccupied."

"You were human for _at least_ three days. You're telling me you didn't eat _anything_ that entire time?"

Adam makes a series of faces, starting from funny, going to sheepish, trying for boyish, and finally settling on embarrassed. "…yeah, pretty much."

"_Adam!_" Sam shouts, hating the mom-tone (Adam's words, not his) that effuses his voice but being unable to stop it. Sam had kind of thought that Adam becoming an immortal divine emissary would mean that he no longer needed to worry about his well-being.

"I'm sorry!" Adam says, completely genuine. "I just… forgot. I was still thinking in angel mode, I guess. I had to finish the job. The mission comes first."

Sam grits his teeth. They've had this conversation before. "Adam, it's hard to finish the mission if you're _dead_."

Adam deflates. Sam can almost see his invisible wings folding in around him to shield him from Sam's fury. "Yeah, I know."

Suppressing the urge to further berate his brother, Sam forces himself to move the conversation forward. "Look, it's okay. Just… tell me what happened. Start from the beginning."

Adam smirks for a second, before sitting up straight, squaring his shoulders, holding his head up high and giving his best impression of Don LaFontaine. "Well, In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word…"

A hand automatically finds its way to the bridge of Sam's nose and begins massaging away the pain of being considerably more mature than a Divine Emissary. "Cute. You're just… adorable. Seriously, Adam."

"Fine," he sighs. "Cas has me doing grunt work."

"Really?" Sam asks, incredulous. He figured Castiel would happily put Adam right beside him in the Angelic Chain of Command, or in second place, at _least_.

Adam quickly moves to correct Sam's misapprehension. "Oh, no, it's not like that. I _asked_ him to give me simple stuff to start with. I mean, yeah, I'm technically the former heavyweight champ, but that doesn't mean too much if I don't even remember how I got there. I wanted to prove to everyone that I was just as obedient and capable as they were. I wanted to _earn_ their respect, as an angel and a soldier, not as Michael, and not as a Winchester. So I was mostly on demon duty and clean-up patrol. It was… it was a lot like hunting with you guys, actually. I just had a heavenly CO who gave me assignments."

There's an easy smile on Adam's face as he speaks, and that by itself thrills him to no end. His brother is happy. Or was, anyway;the story's not done yet. "Okay, so how does simple stuff and grunt work lead to you getting re-humanized?"

Adam opens his mouth to speak, but the words lose their nerve just as they're about to dive off his tongue, and he turns to look out the window and stare at the dark sky for a minute instead. Not much to see tonight, if you're asking Sam, but who knows what Adam sees. The revelation comes suddenly. "It was Raphael."

Whoa. Sam goes bug-eyed. "Raphael _the Archangel_?"

Adam nods. "That's the one."

Sam is incredulous. "Cas has you going up against _archangels!_" He is going to throttle that angel. He doesn't care if it'll probably hurt his fingers more than Castiel's neck. It's the principle of the thing.

Adam winces a bit. "Well, I wasn't really supposed to _fight_ him. My job was basically to find him and try to convince him to come back to Heaven. Long story short, he wasn't really in a talking mood. I guess being trapped in a fire circle for a few years kind of leaves you with a bad taste in your mouth. He was being such a dick… and **I** was actually being _nice_!"

Something about Adam's tone sets off Sam's lie detector. "…oh, really?" he says, studying Adam carefully.

Adam goes wide-eyed as he insists, "I **was**! I was totally civil. I mean, at first."

Sam keeps his gaze on Adam, his expression unyielding.

Adam finally gives. "Fine, I _might_ have called him 'Thunderballs.' Once or twice. It was just… you know, good-natured ribbing. Guy can't take a joke."

Sam is split evenly. One third of him wants to laugh (_Thunderballs?_ Seriously?), one third wants to slam his palm into his face as hard as he can and knock himself out, and the other third wants to slam the same palm into the back of Adam's head. "You were sent to negotiate with an archangel and you called him _Thunderballs_." He knows he is doing this a lot, but he feels like he _needs_ to repeat some of this stuff out loud so Adam can hear how ridiculous it sounds coming out of any mouth but his own.

This time, Adam looks a little affronted. "Sam, I was sent to find my _brother_, to let him out of _prison_, and ask him to come home again. That was how I saw it. He just… didn't see it the same way. Same old song and dance. I'll never be Michael, I am a stain, an abomination, an affront to his brother's memory, blah, blah, blah. Typical angel melodrama," he shrugs. "Only this time it was punctuated by Raphael kicking my ass across seven states and practically tearing my grace out with his teeth."

A fly could easily make it halfway down Sam's throat before he would notice it, with the way his mouth is hanging open in shock. "Uhh… wow."

Adam scratches the back of his head—a nervous habit from when he was a human, as Sam seriously doubts angels itch. "Yeah. I'm… actually kind of surprised I survived. It was a total curb-stomp, man. I stood, like, zero chance against him. I'm a little stronger than your average angel, but I'm nowhere near _that_." Sam feels for the kid. He looks vaguely traumatized by the whole incident. "Anyway, I landed in Oregon, my grace landed in Washington. I spent the next three days getting from A to B."

Sam suddenly remembers why he was so annoyed at the start of this conversation. "Without stopping to eat? Even once?"

Adam shrugs. "Didn't have any money."

"I did! I have plenty! You could've called me, or Dean, or Bobby. And don't say you don't have a cell phone. There are public phones all over the place, and tons of people who would've gladly let you use theirs."

The little angel's eyes are suddenly sadder than they have any right to be. "I… didn't want you to get hurt. I mean, the last thing you need is to get in the way of _another_ pissed-off archangel…"

Again, something about Adam's tone and expression prompts Sam to do a little between-the-lines reading. When the answer hits him, it's so obviously _Winchester_ he could spit. "You thought you were already dead, didn't you? You thought Raphael was going to find you and finish you off. That's why you didn't call anyone."

Adam breaks all pretense of looking at Sam and roots his eyes to the floor. It's all the affirmation Sam needs.

"The reason you didn't eat… it wasn't because you forgot. It had nothing to do with the mission; you were running for your life. Non-stop. For three days straight." Sam mind-warps back to the moment Adam walked into the lobby and Saw him. The dirt that covered him from head to toe, the tattered clothes, the hollowed-out look and thin frame… all of these fit perfectly with Sam's image of a man on the run. When Adam saw him, the joy on his face was nothing less than the joy of someone who was unexpectedly granted a reprieve from execution. Adam looked at Sam like he had honestly never expected to see him again. Even when Adam collapsed like a sack of potatoes, there was a kind of _relief_ on his face, almost like he had been waiting for someone to give him permission to stop and rest. And on top of everything else… "And you were on-foot the whole way, weren't you?"

Adam nods, still not looking up.

Sam huffs out a breath. "God, Adam…" In a second, he has crossed the gap between the beds and pulled his baby brother into another hug. "I had no idea. I was kind of hoping things would stop trying to kill you after you got your wings."

He feels Adam laugh into his shoulder. "No such luck."

"For any of us," Sam agrees.

Adam holds out for a few more seconds before he finally forces himself free of his enormous, overly affectionate big sister. "I'm okay, Sam. Really. All better now."

"Really?" Sam asks, giving him a frank stare.

"Really," Adam reassures him.

Sam smiles. "Good." **WHUMP**. His hand slams into the back of Adam's head and… yup, that hurts like a bitch. Stupid steel angel skin... still. _Principle_.

"Ow!" Adam says, more out of reflex and surprise than any pain. "Were you always this bipolar? What is wrong with you?"

"That's for not asking for help. I don't care what's after you. Demons, zombies, vampires, archangels, God Himself; if you are in trouble, if you need help, **you call me**. You call **someone**. You could have _died_; dropped dead from exhaustion up here in the middle of nowhere. And angels can't revive other angels, so when you're gone… you're _gone_." He sighs, his mind already playing out scenarios and images in his head that he does not want to see, hear, or contemplate. "It would kill me to know you went out like that. I am dead serious."

Adam shakes his head. "Sam, I'm just… trying to keep you guys safe. I don't want you to get on anyone's bad side because of me."

Sam can't help but laugh at this. He spreads his arms. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm _already_ on the bad side of pretty much every cosmic force you can name. I'm not going to sweat another archangel on my tail, not if it's after my family." Sam reaches over to the side table and picks up his cell, handing it to Adam. "Here, take this. I've got plenty of spares. Keep it charged, and _use_ it while you're here. Okay?"

"Okay," Adam nods.

"Promise," Sam commands.

"What is it with you and promises?"

"They make me feel better. And they give me more of an excuse to be pissed off if you break them."

"Fine. I promise. Can I go now?"

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Oh, wow. I didn't realize I was such shitty company."

"It's not that," Adam says, shaking his head. "I just… I need to let the Angel Network know I'm okay and see what Cas wants me to do now. For all I know, Raphael is still out there looking for me. I know you're a badass, and all, but seriously—I don't want him to find you. Period. He's got a major bone to pick with you _and_ Dean."

"I understand," Sam reassures him. "And… I'm sorry I went off on you like that."

The angel shrugs him off. "Don't worry about it. You wouldn't be Sammy if you weren't a gigantic Mother Hen, trying to sit on me like I'm still in the egg."

Sam snorts. "Of course. You're right: you hatched, and you're a Big Chicken now." He reclines on the bed, picking up the remote and using it to point Adam towards the door. "Fly away, Chicken Boy. I'll talk to you later."

Adam grins, and is gone.

The next morning, there is a carton of eggs sitting in his driver's seat. Sam comes _this_ close to actually sitting on them before he notices.

Oh, _funny._ Laugh _riot_. Adam better be glad he didn't ruin Sam's FBI pants or Sam would definitely… do…

…something.

* * *

"_FBI Special Agent Ulrich. This better be important_."

"Dean, it's me."

"_Sam? Why're you calling me on the FBI line?_"

"Gave my cell to Adam. You might want to update your numbers."

"_Okay, so… what's the story?_"

"Well, the short version is: Adam had a little run-in with the Archangel Raphael, and it didn't go particularly well for him."

"_Raphael? Son of a __**bitch**__… me and Cas should've ganked that guy when we had the chance. Total, hundred percent, USDA choice, grade F'in __**asshole**__."_

"No arguments there, but Adam's okay now. He nearly killed _himself_ trying to get his Grace back, but hopefully he knows he can _call_ and ask for help next time. Actually, scratch that, hopefully there won't **be** a next time."

"_Why __**didn't**__ he call?_"

"Thought he was protecting us from Raphael."

"_Huh. Well, gee, the kid thinks his brother is better off without him and goes off on his own to protect him, even though his brother would be happy to help him out. Kind of reminds me of someone_."

"Yeah, he thinks his own life is worth less than his brother's, and doesn't want to burden anyone with his problems or feelings, instead just keeping everything to himself until it nearly kills him. It's definitely ringing a few bells."

"_Oh, nice. I see what you did there._"

"So, I'll ask again: how are Lisa and Ben?"

"_They're great._" Sam hears the clatter of dishes in the background, and what sounds like sizzling. "_Ow, __**shit**__ that's hot!"_

"Are you **cooking**?"

"_Trying to. Son of a bitch…_"

"Sounds like things are going swimmingly."

"_Try drowningly_."

"Oh well. It's the thought that counts, right?"

"_Yeah, Lisa can't really eat my thoughts, Sam. If she could… well, I'd probably have to shoot her."_

Sam hears another voice in the background. "_Why are you talking about shooting my mom?_"

Dean replies. "_Don't worry, kid. It's only if she turns into some kind of thought-eating brain monster_."

The voice seems appeased by this. "_Ah, gotcha._"

Dean finally returns to Sam's side of the conversation. "_Gotta go, Sammy. You're ruining my concentration._"

"You **told** me to call you!"

"_And you did. Good boy. Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy! Sammy! Sammy's a good boy!_" Sam snorts. "_Give yourself a treat for good behavior_."

"Go to Hell, Dean. Again."

"_Only if you come with me, sunshine._"

"Jerk."

"_Bitch_."

Call Ended.

* * *

It's not until a couple of weeks later that Sam gets a call from his old cell phone. He's coming off the tail end of a hunt for a Rusalka that lived so deep in the ass-end of nowhere that Sam couldn't find any hotels close enough to use as a base and wound up setting up camp in a run-down shack that probably belonged to the Rusalka's third or fourth victim. Slightly distasteful, sure, but there's no one else using it, so why let a perfectly good shelter go to waste?

The phone rings twice before he picks it up. "Hello?"

"_Sam, hey. It's Adam_."

"I know, dude. Caller ID."

"_Oh, right_." Sam tries to study his voice. He definitely sounds a little off, but Sam can't quite put his finger on why. "_Listen, ummm… could you… man this is so weird… could you come pick me up?_"

Huh. That's not what Sam expected. "You didn't get humanized _again_, did you?"

"_No, no, not exactly_."

"So why don't you zap over here? I'm way off the beaten path right now—it'll probably take me an hour just to _find_ a road." Plus the Rusalka was kind of a bitch to put down. Swimming always did tire him out…

"_Well, I just… I kind of… I'm not…_" A sigh. "_Okay. I'll try_." Call Ended.

_Try_? Sam doesn't like the sound of that. And he likes the sudden, violent _**THUD**_ of an impact on the shack's roof even worse. Out the window, he sees a shadow plummet past the glass, and Sam immediately exits the house with his gun drawn, ready to attack.

What he isn't ready-for is a rather tired-looking Adam to be pulling himself up off the ground. "I'm okay," Adam says, pre-empting Sam's first question. "Rough landing."

Sam lowers his gun. "That was **you**? What happened?"

Adam shrugs. "I tried. And… I missed."

"You _missed_," Sam says plainly. "Angels don't _miss_. You never 'missed' before.

Adam looks more than a little miserable. "Apparently, I do now."

And when Sam hears his little brother's voice laced with so much uncertainty and weariness, there is no contest.

It is, by far, his least favorite sound of all.

_To Be Continued…_


	2. Gonna Fly Now

Chapter 2: Gonna Fly Now [2/?]  
**Warnings:** Cursing, a disproportionate amount of dude humor, abuse of helpless woodland creatures.  
**Characters:** Sam, Adam, Dean, background Lisa and Ben.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 4068  
**Chapter Summary:** Sam discovers his little angelic brother has a big angelic problem, and tries to help the best way he knows how.  
**Disclaimer**: I make no money from this, nor should I—it is simply a tribute to the fine actors and writers who portray these characters that have captured my imagination and rather kinkily tied it to a chair. ;)

**Author's Notes: **This story has proven to be entirely too much fun to write. I just hope it stays that way. Again, I so love reviews and feedback in all forms. Enjoy!**  
**

* * *

"I'm having some… uhhh… angel troubles."

Sam nods towards the shack. "So I see." The tin roof has a pretty hefty dent in it, though it is disappointingly not Adam-shaped. Sam has always secretly wished to see someone Wile E. Coyote into something, leaving a perfect cookie-cutter imprint after they peel off. He hasn't given up hope yet—his life still occasionally feels ridiculous enough to pass as a particularly sadistic cartoon. "Don't you think you should talk to _angels_ about that?"

Adam sighs, jamming his hands into his pockets. "It's… kind of embarrassing. It'd be like you talking to Dean about having Erectile Dysfunction."

Ew. _Ew_. What the fuck? Sam personally feels that angels shouldn't even be able to _think_ about erections, let alone _talk_ about them. "Okay, so, what's wrong? You can't get it up?"

"No," Adam says, grimacing. "I can't get it _down_." He pauses for a second. "So I guess this would be more like priapism."

_Oh God_, that's even worse. Sam brings his hands up to his temples. Massage away the horror, Winchester. Massage it all away… "Okay, one: _never_ say that word again. Two: what, exactly, are you talking about?"

Adam thinks for a second. "Maybe I should just show you." He scans the ground for a second and spots a beer bottle with a label that has long been bleached into oblivion. He walks over, picks it up, and sets it on a small stump before walking a few paces away. "Okay, I'm going to try and summon that bottle to my hand. Watch."

Sam does. He watches as Adam uncertainly raises a hand towards the bottle, perfectly mirroring Sam's posture when he used to use his Evil Hands of Demon Hurting without even realizing it. He watches as the bottle does nothing in response. He watches Adam's face twitch slightly as he focuses, watches the bottle rattle for a few seconds before going still. He watches Adam's eyes narrow as he ups the ante, and… he watches the bottle explode into a hundred fragments, all of which fly towards Adam at bullet speed, shredding his jacket (but thankfully not his skin) pretty thoroughly.

"…wow." Sam studies the spot where the bottle used to be. It looks like Adam broke away part of the stump. "Well, you definitely got the bottle to come to you."

"I was kind of going for 'in one piece.'"

"I kind of gathered that." Sam turns to his little brother, who is rather dejectedly trying to shake out the glass shards still embedded in his jacket.

"I'm getting stronger," he says as he fishes another fragment from his hair. "And I don't know why, but I just… I can't control it."

That is… really not what Sam expected. "Is it the same with your other angel stuff?"

Adam nods miserably. "When I popped over here, I was aiming for the front yard. It… it wasn't this bad at first, but…" He sighs, suddenly dropping from simple discouragement into outright devastation. "Yesterday, I tried to hold a demon against a wall so I could exorcise it. When I booted the bastard back to Hell, the host just… collapsed. I _snapped his neck_, Sam." He rakes a hand through his hair. "And when I tried to heal him…" A sigh. "…he blew up in my face."

"_It_," Sam corrects.

"What?" Adam says.

"_It_ blew up in your face," Sam says. "The situation," he adds, because Adam obviously misspoke. Right?

"No, _he_ blew up in my face. Like a bowl of salsa in the microwave." The unfortunate angel hangs his head in shame. "I had to get Zadkiel to come over and put the guy back together. I just… nothing like this has never happened before. I don't know what to _do_, Sammy."

Even after a year of being an angel, Adam sounds so damn _little_ when he calls him 'Sammy' that Sam can't help but want to help. When Dean calls him Sammy, it's like a nickname, a childhood memory, a term of endearment and occasionally of belittlement, reminding him who is bigger, who is older, who came first. In Dean's eyes, 'Sammy' is a mop-headed midget with an oversized brain and big, impossible dreams. But when Adam does it, the tone is entirely different. Adam says 'Sammy' the way most people might say 'Daddy' or 'Mommy;' in moments of dire stress, as a desperate plea for someone to make things better. In Adam's eyes, 'Sammy' is his big, big older brother, his protector, his teacher, his shelter from the storm, the one who takes care of him and worries about him and looks after him and loves him. By invoking the name of Sammy, Adam has just unknowingly issued a challenge to him, and he is bound by their familial bonds to step up to the task. He _will_ make this better, somehow.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Sam says as he approaches the discouraged angel. He brushes one final piece of glass from Adam's shoulder to make room for his hand. "It's gonna be okay. We'll figure something out, I promise."

* * *

Sam grins at his little brother. Adam doesn't look quite as pleased.

"Practice makes perfect," Sam says. "Your angel mojo is the same as anything else. The more you use it, the better you'll get with it. So we'll just practice until you get things under control again."

"This is your plan?" Adam says, gesturing to the long line of bottles Sam has placed on the wooden fence. "We're gonna solve this with a _training montage_?"

"Hey, laugh all you want. Practice _works_. I know from experience," Sam finishes crossing his arms.

Adam shrugs. "Well, then…" And suddenly, he launches into song. "_Let's get down to business! To defeat… demons!_" He finishes with a boyish grin.

Sam is unimpressed. "_Demons_ instead of _the huns_? That's kind of a stretch, dude."

Adam shrugs. "Hey, that was pretty good for something right off the top of my head."

Sam just shakes his head. "Your song-fu is weak, grasshopper. You need more training. Let's start small… something really easy. Just try to knock those bottles over, one at a time."

"Alright," Adam says, raising the Hand of Force towards the bottles. "Here goes…"

Sam winces as every single bottle is tossed violently off the fence. "Well, you've definitely got the 'force of a great typhoon' part down."

Adam drops his hand and groans.

* * *

"Short-range teleportation," Sam says. "I don't know exactly how it works, but I'm hoping short jumps are easier than long ones. We're going for accuracy here," he gestures to the house, which is only a few feet away. "Just try to land inside."

Adam looks nervous. "You know, I've heard a theory that says if teleportation goes wrong and two objects end up occupying the same space, it causes an atomic explosion."

Sam… seriously wonders about the physics behind that. "Let's hope not. Now, go for it!"

Adam grits his teeth, and vanishes with the sound of fluttering wings. A split second later, there is a series of loud crashes that sound like the spectacular collision of everything from wood, to glass, to plastic, to porcelain, to drywall, to paper, to _metal_. After considering it for a second, Sam decides to call this one a success. He _did_ land inside, at least…

* * *

"**No!**" Adam shouts. "Absolutely freaking **not**. I'm not practicing on _you_!"

Sam sighs. "Adam, it's just a paper cut. It's not like a broken neck; you should barely have to try at all."

Adam turns his panicked eyes towards Sam. "What part of _he exploded_ do you not understand? I'm not doing it. Not to you."

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "Fine. How about small animals?" Sam spots a squirrel and before Adam has a chance to stop him, Sam has drawn his gun and _shot_ the poor thing. It's a little much, maybe, but the frustration is starting to get the better of him.

"_Dude_!" Adam cries, clearly disturbed. "Violence towards small animals is, like, a tell-tale sign of a psychopath."

"That's _tormenting_ small animals. The squirrel got a quick, merciful death."

Adam goes over and kneels next to the little critter. "It's not dead!" he says, and Sam winces, both because he is not as good a shot as he had hoped, and a little because he is actually starting to feel bad about sentencing a poor, defenseless squirrel to a slow and agonizing death to help his little brother play Dr. Milligan, Medicine Angel.

"So fix it," Sam says, trying to keep everyone on task.

Adam touches gentle fingers to the squirrel and closes his eyes…

Ten seconds later, the squirrel is _on fire_, Adam looks like he is about to cry, and Sam has most definitely had enough. "Alright, I think we should call it a day for now."

When Adam doesn't move, Sam gently lifts his brother to his feet and shuffles him away from the smoldering pile of backwoods barbecue. He might need a little advice on this one…

* * *

"…_he set it on __**fire**__?_"

"Yeah."

"_Damn._"

"I know."

"_You know what this sounds like, don't you?_"

"No, but I have a feeling I'm not going to like it."

"_It sounds like angel puberty_."

"…and I was right. Go me."

"_Come on, Sammy. You remember those years, don't you? One day you're playing with Lego's, reading comic books, and having to stand on your toes to reach the sink, then all of a sudden you're playing with guns, reading skin mags, and smacking your head on the Impala every time you get in or out. Hell, if anybody can understand sudden growth spurts, it should be you_."

"Dean…"

"_Seriously, Sam! I swear, it took like a __**month**__ for you to go from being a shrimpy little dork to being a stick that walked on stilts. It was freaky, man. And bad for my self-esteem. It just ain't right to have a little brother who's bigger than you._"

"Well, as usual, you've been fantastically helpful. Thank you so much."

"_Hey, come on, don't get all bent out of shape. You just need to…_"

Dean is interrupted by a female voice. "_Dean, I hate to interrupt your brotherly bonding time, but we have to go if we're going to make it to the movie._"

"_But Sammy needs my advice! He has called us today to seek my sage wisdom_," Dean replies.

Lisa sounds unimpressed. "_Mmmm-hmmm_." There is the distinctive sound of a kiss._ "Lie better, honey_."

"_What? Why's that a lie? I've got wisdom. I've got __**tons**__ of wisdom._" Lisa does not answer, having probably left the room. "_Sorry about that, Sammy. Anyway, like I said, you just need to keep at it for now. This is kind of unknown territory, so you can see if it gets better on its own. If it doesn't, you know what to do._"

"Call Castiel no matter how much Adam whines about it?"

"_Exactly_."

"Done. Have fun on your _date_," Sam teases.

"_Hey, this is not a __**date**__. This is a kick-ass night out, during which I will see a kick-ass movie, with a kick-ass woman. It's not every girl who actually __**wants**__ to see 'Barracudas 4: Sailors Take Warning.' I didn't even have to say __**please**__, dude. She is __**that**__ awesome. Anyway, have fun playing Paulie to Adam's Rocky. Tell the kid to punch some meat for me._"

"Will do." Call Ended.

* * *

The next day, Sam and Adam wake up to overcast skies and a pretty dreary fog settling over them. Fog is a sign of a number of unpleasant creatures and spirits, but his vibe-o-meter is sitting firmly at zero, and he is fairly confident that there is little he can't handle with an angel on his side, especially an angel stuck in overclocked mode.

"So, what'd you wind up doing last night?" Sam asks as he sets bottles and other assorted objects on the fence for target practice. Angels don't sleep, so while Sam was snoozing, Adam was stuck in a house with no internet and no TV (there _used_ to be a TV, but it was a tragic victim of Adam's telefragging mishap).

"Played Tetris," he says simply, staring at the miserable, grey heavens and probably feeling even more depressed. "Did pretty good."

Sam pulls out his phone as he walks back. "You beat my score!" he cries, utterly indignant. Seriously, since when does Adam even _play_ Tetris?

Adam just shrugs. "Had plenty of time to practice."

Sam snaps the phone shut and pockets it, quietly resolving to reclaim the top spot as soon as possible. "Whatever. Okay, same deal as yesterday. If your problem is letting too much out at once, just scale it way, way back. Let it out a little at a time until you get a feel for what you need." It's not much help. Sam isn't even sure how qualified he is to be helping Adam at all considering that he basically had to resort infernal steroids to master his own powers, but it's the best advice he can offer.

Adam nods and focuses, seeming a bit less distressed than the day before. His face is calm and his hand is steady.

The bottles break. Every last one of them bursts into a hundred glittering razors that scatter through the grass behind the fence. Adam growls in sheer frustration and presses a fist to his forehead, Sam just eyes the bottles and tries to imagine what force like that would do to a living thing.

It's not pretty.

* * *

They are several yards away from the house now. Sam could reach up and block out the ramshackle building with his fist. Adam still looks determined, but there is a slight twitch in his eyebrow every few seconds that exposes his unease. "Land inside," Sam says. "You know the place, you've been in there before. Just focus, dude."

Adam nods.

In the end, Sam can't help but admire his accidental precision. Adam vanishes, Sam hears the sound of wings, and suddenly, the poor kid appears blazing towards the roof, landing in the exact same spot he dented the first time and managing to bash the rest of the way through it, landing with a calamitous crash that makes Sam wince even at a distance. That one, he will definitely have to call a failure. Sure, Adam wound up inside, but now Sam will have to sleep in the car if it rains.

He _really_ hopes he is right about the owner of this house being one of the drowning victims. Because otherwise, Sam is going to have some serious bad housekeeping karma coming his way…

* * *

"No. No more… _experimenting_ on innocent woodland creatures. No healing you, no healing anyone," Adam says, arms crossed and stance unyielding. He looks like he could stand straight through a hurricane with how much he is **not moving** on this issue.

"Adam, you need to practice…" Sam starts, but Adam finishes.

"No! No, I don't! I'm just getting worse, Sam. The healing stuff needs live creatures to practice on and I'm not hurting anything else. The answer's 'No.'" His hand runs over his face before he speaks again, leaning against the wall of the slightly battered shack they are staying in. "I used to love healing," he says, his voice taking the unmistakably wistful tone of remembrance. "I actually got in trouble for it once. I was tracking down a demon outside of Columbia, South Carolina… found him possessing a paramedic. Wound up jumping inside a moving ambulance to exorcise the guy, and by the time I got him, we were at the hospital ER. There was a guy in the back of the ambulance… looked like he had gotten run over by something. He was still conscious, though, and I had accidentally scared the crap out of him with my whole 'smiting evil' act, so I figured I'd make it up to the guy by fixing him up. And then I just…" He smiles a bit. "…stayed there. I started to walk off, but another ambulance pulled up. Gunshot victim. Then another, and another. I healed four people, at least one of which would have definitely died otherwise, before my squad found me and told me off."

Sam sits down next to him. "Why don't they like you healing people?"

Adam shrugs. "It's not our job. No matter how much we love humanity, it's not up to us to micromanage their lives. We can't fix all of humanity's problems, and even if we could, doing it would just rob their lives of meaning. At least, that's what they told me."

Sam can't help but think that's pretty hypocritical, considering how much his and Dean's and their parents' lives were given the angelic micromanagement treatment. But maybe this is the new management policy.

"They had to mind-whammy like twelve people so they didn't remember being miraculously healed by a dopey-looking blond teenager. Since then, I've been on strict orders only to heal when the angels are directly or indirectly responsible for a person's injuries." That sounds very _legal_ to Sam, almost like it was part of a settlement agreement. "But I liked it, Sammy. Fixing people just felt… _right_, you know?"

Sam smiles gently at his little brother. "That's your Adam side, you know. You were pre-med before you died."

Adam's eyes bulge just a titch. "Huh. That's new." Sam agrees. They've seen plenty of evidence of Michael's knowledge and expertise, but the things Adam knew were precious little in comparison. Michael had thousands of years of knowledge compared to Adam's 19, so the scales were definitely tipped in the archangel's favor. The wistful grin dawning on Adam's face is like the sun breaking through clouds. "I know I'm part-human, but sometimes it's hard to believe, you know? It's nice to be reminded."

"It is," Sam agrees, because he definitely knows what it's like to be part-human, and to cling to that part desperately lest it slip away from you.

They sit awhile longer in the dreary grey light of a cloudy sky. The clouds diffuse the light from the sun no matter where it is, making most of the day look identical from morning to evening. Maybe that's what angels are supposed to be—clouds hanging between earth and heaven, diffusing the harsh light of the sun so that it can illuminate the world without scorching it, providing distant protection, maybe even nourishment, to the ones living below without telling them what to do with it. Maybe… and maybe not. It's not for Sam to decide.

"Looks like rain," Adam says.

And suddenly Sam is reminded of the hole in the roof. "I don't guess you can heal houses, can you?" Adam's glare speaks loud and clear, and Sam winces. "Sorry."

* * *

[_no talk. txt_.]

[Why are we texting?]

[_ school play. no phones._]

[You do realize you're still breaking the rules, right?]

[_not as bad_. _bsides, rules stupid._]

[We don't get to decide which rules to follow, Dean.]

[_do 2. im a rebel baby. :)_]

[What are you doing at a school play, anyway?]

[_ben is pirate king. taught him everything. witnessing fruits of awesome._]

Sam grins. [You've got it so bad, dude.]

[_stfu. how is angel buddy._]

[Not good. He did even worse than yesterday.]

[_dam. sux 2 b him._]

[Think it's time to call for backup?]

[_mayB 1 more day._]

[Alright, but we might run out of things to break if this keeps up.]

[_practice on ur head. hardest thing ever._]

[Which one? I've got two, and either one could qualify.]

[_wut r u OMG GROSS. u suk. :O_]

[LMAO.]

[_STFU. almost got in truble bcuz o u._]

[You're the one breaking the rules, Dean.]

[_n ur tattlin on me. bitch._]

[Tattling on you and making you tattle on yourself are two very different things, jerk.]

[_r not_.]

[Are too. And why are you murdering the English language? I know you can spell better than that.]

[_bcuz u tuch urself night_.]

Sam doesn't dignify that with a response.

* * *

Thankfully, it doesn't actually rain. Folding himself into the backseat of a car for the night always leaves him tied in knots in the morning. Instead of having to work out half a dozen kinks, Sam wakes up rested and ready for another day of failure and misery.

"Beat your high score on Pac-Man last night," Adam says. Sam is pretty sure he was going for teasing, but like most other things these days, he missed the mark and landed at 'tired' instead.

"You're not bragging, are you? Isn't pride one of the Seven Deadly Sins?" Sam pokes back.

A smile tries to inch its way onto Adam's mouth. "_Hubris_ is the Deadly Sin: too much pride or unwarranted pride. I totally earned this one."

Sam snorts. "Bullcrap. You have cheat codes."

"For Pac-Man?" Adam raises an eyebrow.

"For _life_," Sam clarifies.

The angel rolls his eyes. "Angel powers don't exactly help much in video game land."

"Sure they do. You can play for hours without getting tired, hungry, or bored. That's _something_," Sam insists.

Adam just winks at him. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, second-place Sam."

Sam juts his chin towards the fence. "Alright, hot-shot. Let's see what you've got." This time, he has placed the bottles a little farther apart—hopefully close enough to still present a challenge at knocking them over individually. The tiny glimmer of happiness on Adam's face is mercilessly stamped out as he raises his hand again, his face devoid of any kind of emotion. Sam quietly crosses his fingers and hopes for an improvement.

There is a sound like several guns firing at once. Every bottle on the fence explodes away from them with incredible force, as does the _fence itself_, and a large chunk of the ground underneath it. The shockwave Adam creates is so powerful that it actually causes the shards of glass from yesterday's bottles to be pulled from the grass and tossed further and even more violently downfield. There is a ditch where the wooden fence once sat. Not even a single post remains.

Sam looks over to Adam, who just stands there with his hand raised and his eyes wide in horror at what he is capable of. Sam opens his mouth to pour out a platitude, but something catches his eye that slams it shut again. He steps forward grabs Adam's raised hand, his shocked eyes going over it repeatedly and quietly hoping each time that the thing will vanish.

"Sam, what are you—"

"Look," Sam simply says, letting go of Adam's hand so that the angel can see what Sam does. The skin on Adam's hand is dry and peeling, several lines already visible where bits of it have flaked off forming all manner of odd, uneven shapes with their absence. The skin underneath is red and irritated, already beginning to blister on the pinky side.

"My hand…" Adam says. "What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know," Sam says, even though he has an idea (a horrible, horrible idea that he does not want to voice). "Can you heal it?"

Adam shakes his head, never taking his eyes off the odd sight of his flaking flesh. "My body heals itself. Any time I get hurt, it fixes itself." His eyes narrow in focus, but nothing happens. "I can't… I can't fix it. What is this?" Adam asks again.

Sam continues to stare at his little brother's hand. He has seen this before, on only one being, but one was more than enough to last him a lifetime. The peeling skin, the blisters… the look of his brother's hand is a dead ringer for the look of Lucifer's vessel. Or rather, the look of the vessel's body as the Lightbringer's impossible power slowly burned it away, eating at it until it barely looked human.

"Sammy?" Adam asks, and Sam must have let his poker face slip because now Adam is looking about as frightened as Sam feels.

Sam looks his little brother in the eye. He hates to embarrass the kid, but the situation has just given him a pretty strong sign that it is much more serious than either of them has imagined.

"This is bad," he says. "We need some help."

_To Be Continued..._


	3. The Fire Inside

**Title:** Out of Ashes, Chapter 3: The Fire Inside [3/?]  
**Author: morkhan**  
**Warnings:** Sam, Adam, OMC, Castiel, Dean  
**Characters:**  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 5732  
**Chapter Summary: **And people used to call _Sam_ a ticking time bomb…  
**Disclaimer**: I make no money from this, nor should I—it is simply a tribute to the fine actors and writers who portray these characters that have captured my imagination and rather kinkily tied it to a chair. ;)

**Author's Notes: **Lots of stuff going on in this chapter. First, the debut of my first Major OC in a fanfiction. Original Characters always make me nervous, whether reading or writing them. Simply by existing, they take up space that would normally be filled by characters we _already_ know and love. It is a struggle to write a good OC and to keep them in their proper place in the story, to use words on a page to try and make them as compelling as fully fleshed-out characters we've known and watched for years, so this chapter was quite the challenge to write to my satisfaction. I'm eager to see what you think of him, so please, hold nothing back. ;)

This chapter also marks the appearance of the main plot the story will follow. In other words… it's exposition time, ladies and gents! Our lovely Angel of Exposition, Castiel, appears to do the honors here. Truthfully, I feel that Castiel is forced into this role all too often, so I try to make it so that he doesn't know _everything_… just enough to help. It's another fine line to walk, and I hope I do it to your satisfaction.

Just an FYI—on a recommendation from a friend, I have 'cast' this character in my head to be played by Anthony Stewart Head, known for playing the part of Giles on _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. I don't want to spoil who it is; you'll know him when you see him. :P Once again, enjoy!

* * *

"Sammy, no. _Please_."

Sam marches forward, staring only at his cell phone, impervious to the puppy-eyes and puppy _whines_ of his younger sibling. They are like bullets to Sam's Superman, bouncing off of his invincible hide with less impact than airsoft pellets. "Adam, I'm sorry, but this is getting serious. We need someone with _actual knowledge_ on the subject, and Cas is pretty much our best bet." He finally gets enough of a signal to connect to the internet, and gets their coordinates from his GPS.

"But you don't understand!" Adam says, invoking the stock phrase of teenaged angst without even so much as a hint of irony. Maybe Dean was right—maybe this _is_ like angel puberty. Maybe Adam's skin condition is the equivalent of angel acne. And maybe not; the only way Sam will know anything for sure is if he asks, and he damn well intends to.

"You're right, Adam. I don't. That's why I'm calling someone who might." With that, Sam gets down on his knees, bows his head, and shuts his eyes in silent prayer.

Castiel, though considered a very close friend of the family, has his own responsibilities and tasks to attend to. The angel and the Winchesters both agreed that while it would be a good idea to leave a line of quick communication open between them, it would not be good for either party to be at the other's beck and call 24/7. They owed the angel a lot, but the angel also owed them, so in the end, they decided that the best relationship would be one of equals—the Winchesters might be contacted to assist Castiel in something, and Castiel might, in turn, be invoked by the Winchesters in dire situations to intervene, but either party would be able to refuse with no repercussions. Prayer is the Winchester's hotline to Heaven, and Sam sincerely hopes Castiel is not busy. Sam's prayer is brief and to-the-point. He includes their latitude and longitude so Castiel will be able to find them—the Enochian sigils on their ribs are a lot harder to get _off_ than they were to get _on_, and besides… being hidden from angelic eyes has its perks.

Although, for some odd reason, the sigils have never been able to hide him from Adam…

Speaking of which, when Sam opens his eyes again, he sees that Adam, too, has his head bowed and eyes closed… but the pinched look on his face is hardly one of prayer. "Adam? Are you okay?"

Adam's face twitches slightly as his eyes shut tighter. His jaw seems to be clenched, and his neck is strained. There is a painfully long second where he doesn't respond, but eventually, he seems to come back to himself, slightly out of breath. "…yeah. I'm alright. Just… felt a little weird there for a second."

"See?" Sam says, standing up and gesturing to… well, Adam in general. "That! That is what I'm talking about. You were acting like you were dizzy. Angels don't get dizzy! They don't get sick, or tired, or… flakey!"

Adam glares at him. "Well, by your logic, why talk to Castiel at all? He's an angel, he's not gonna know about this stuff."

Sam glares right back and reminds himself that Adam is only being a brat because he doesn't understand why Sam is doing this. He doesn't understand that Sam is afraid that Adam is going to flare up like a cigarette and turn to ash right in front of him. "Adam…" Sam starts, but Adam interrupts him with a sigh.

"And here they come," is all he says.

A second later, there are about thirty people swarming them from all sides.

"Michael! Where have you…"

"…been missing for days, we…"

"…had been attacked again. You did not…"

"…answer me! The Host has been combing the…"

"…countryside with your brother? You are…"

"…so much brighter! My lord, have you been working out…

"…of our minds! What if Raphael had found you? This…"

"…not behavior befitting of someone of your station…"

The voices continue to speak up, over, and around each other until they combine to form an utterly incomprehensible stream of absolute gibberish. Sam is a bit overwhelmed, and no one is even paying _attention_ to him: he can't imagine how Adam feels at the epicenter of this chaotic mess. He seems to be trying to calm down his angelic brethren with gentle reassurances at first. When that proves to be about as effective a blowing to cool off a volcano, he tires a more direct method.

"_**QUIET**_," Sam thinks Adam shouts, but it's hard to tell, given that his human voice is almost completely overwhelmed by the earsplitting whine that is comes tearing out of his mouth on top of it.

Immediately, the angels are cowed into obedient silence.

"I'm fine," Adam says. "Okay? I'm sorry I had you all worried, but I'm fine now, really. I just had to talk to Sam about… something."

There is a slight murmur of acceptance from the angels, followed by small segment of silence, followed by…

"Is this about that guy who exploded all over you?" a female voice chimes in.

Adam grimaces. "Well, kind of…"

"Does it have anything to do with the time you crashed through that poor woman's window?"

Adam can see the furor starting to rise again, but suddenly seems powerless to stop it. "Guys, I really don't…"

"Oh! Oh! And is it related to that skylight you broke by means of your face?"

"Okay! Fine! Yes, it's about those things." Adam grunts, and Sam can practically feel his blood pressure spiking. "Guys, seriously, I… you… this isn't twenty questions!"

"I have just one more," a gentler, much more composed tone chimes in. "Would you like me to shoo away these gossipy hens for you, sir?" There is an unmistakably British lilt to the voice, making it seem lively without being obnoxiously bouncy.

"_Please_," Adam replies readily.

"Alright, all of you!" the voice says, assuming a surprisingly authoritative tone that seems at odds with the gentleness Sam heard before. "You have seen with your own eyes that our dear boy is fighting fit and ready for action. Now, if you would, please finish gawking sometime within the next few seconds, kindly return to your assigned posts and resume _doing your jobs_."

There is a bit of grumbling, but the angels are no more likely to rebel against authority now than they ever were, and soon enough, fluttering wingbeats fill the air as the flock vanishes back to wherever it came from. Soon, there is only one new figure remaining on the grassy field: a composed-looking, slightly older man with dark grey hair, wearing a vintage suit and vest with a blue and white polka-dotted _bowtie_ that Sam is almost completely sure can only be legally worn by college professors. _Tenured_ college professors.

"Better?" the Professor asks, smiling at Adam.

"Much," Adam says, giving that special kind of goofy, unguarded grin that Sam had previously thought was reserved for Dean and himself. "Thanks. I still wish you wouldn't give me special treatment like that, but… thanks."

"I am happy to serve," the gentleman replies simply.

"Yeah, except right now, you're technically my superior, so you're not supposed to be serving me. So, you know, stop it," Adam says.

"Yes, sir," the angel nods.

Adam looks at him plainly. "…you do realize you just took an order from me?"

The elder angel looks pensive for a second. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Old habits, and all that."

Adam just shakes his head fondly. Apparently, he catches sight of Sam in the process, and suddenly remembers that his brother still exists. Sam doesn't blame him for forgetting—he was starting to forget himself, to be honest. "Sam," he says, calling his brother over. "This is Zadkiel, Angel of Mercy, Benevolence, and Forgiveness," he says with a smile. "Nice guy. Zadkiel, this is my brother, Sam Winchester."

"It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Sam," Zadkiel intones, scanning him with scrutinizing eyes and a fantastically fake smile pasted on his face. "I have heard a great deal about you from a… variety of sources."

TRANSLATION: _Hello, Satan! You're looking devilish today_. _What __**do**__ you polish your horns with?_

Sam puts his best face forward, teeth bared in what Dean used to call his _Fuck Off and Die_ smile. "Any friend of _Adam's_ is a friend of mine," he says, putting emphasis on his brother's human name just to see how the angel reacts. To Sam's disappointment, he doesn't.

The subtext of the exchange flies right by Adam without even so much as disturbing his hair. "Zadkiel's my commanding officer, and one of my old friends," he tells Sam with no small amount of excitement. "He's been great to me ever since I got my wings. I feel kind of bad for not remembering him, but I guess that goes for pretty much everyone I used to know."

"Think nothing of it, sir," Zadkiel nods, giving what at least seems to be a genuine benevolent smile towards his little brother. "We are delighted that you have returned to us at all."

"Zadkiel and I used to be combat buddies," Adam says.

"Yes," Professor Angel nods, "Michael was magnificent on the field of battle. It was a privilege to be chosen to serve at his side."

"Battle?" Sam asks. "I thought you were the Angel of Mercy?"

Zadkiel is unfazed. "War is an excellent opportunity for the expression of benevolence towards one's enemies. You were on the receiving end of such mercies several times, were you not?" A carefully quirked eyebrow seems to suggest that _someone's_ mercies are being tested even as they speak.

_Well, they didn't __**kill**__ me… much. I guess that counts_? That's really the only example Sam can think of at the moment, and somehow, he doesn't think saying as much will go over well with present company, so he nimbly dodges with a quick subject change. "Where's Castiel?"

"He is having some difficulty securing his vessel, at the moment. It seems that Mr. Novak was in the midst of having carnal relations with his wife, and did not wish to be disturbed until he finished attending to her," Zadkiel says without even the slightest hint of awkwardness.

With perfect timing, as always, Castiel appears in the rumpled form of Jimmy Novak, looking slightly _more_ rumpled than usual, if you catch the drift. His hair is everywhere, his shirt is at least two buttons off, and his pants seem to be on backwards. Despite all of this, the angel himself looks as stoic and unflappable as ever. "I apologize for the delay in my arrival. Jimmy was…"

"We know," Sam assures him. "It's fine, really."

"Hey, Cas," Adam says somewhat dejectedly, the happiness from introducing two of his friends to one another vanishing faster than an exorcised demon.

Castiel graces him with a gentle smile. "Hello, Adam. You wished to speak with me about something?"

Adam crosses his arms, looking not a little sulky. "No," he grumbles. "But _Sam_ did."

Castiel turns to Sam. "Ah. What did you wish to discuss with me, Sam?"

Sam opens his mouth to speak when he notices that Zadkiel is still standing with them. He isn't sure how to politely tell the angel to fuck off and not butt into family matters. Oddly enough, Zadkiel seems to pick up on Sam's discomfort all on his own. "Ah," the angel says simply. "A private matter, is it?" he asks, turning to Adam.

Adam scratches the back of his neck. "Sorry, Zad. I just… you know how it is."

The elder angel smiles the warm, encouraging smile of a patient teacher (there's another mark in the college professor column) and nods. "Of course, sir. I'll be off, then."

"Thanks," Sam's little brother chuckles. "And stop calling me 'sir.'"

Zadkiel nods. "Yes, sir. Sorry, si—errr, Michael." The elder angel places a gentle hand on Adam's shoulder. "Be well, my lord." Adam nods. Zadkiel gives a subtle tilt of the head to Sam, seeming slightly less disdainful (if only slightly) before _whoosh_ing off the parts unknown.

Well, **that** was interesting. For a moment, it felt like he had been plunged into a terrible Romantic Comedy in which he and the hated in-laws were forced to meet and hide their disgust from everyone except each other. Sam is well-aware of the angels' feelings towards him, and he is sure that Zadkiel has a clear picture of Sam's distrust of his kind as well, but Adam seemed blissfully oblivious to all of it, so mission accomplished on that front, at least.

"Well, Sam?" Castiel nods towards him. "Not that it isn't good to see you again, but you said this was an urgent matter."

Sam looks over to Adam, who is rerouting all power into making his Pleading Eyes as pathetic and downtrodden as possible. _Sorry, buddy_, he thinks, _but if it comes down to a choice between keeping you happy, or keeping you safe, I'm keeping you safe_. That he just mentally echoed their father is a fact not lost on him. "Let's go inside," he says, taking a deep breath, before starting to tell the story as they walk. "Something's wrong with Adam…"

* * *

Castiel examines the winged wonderboy from every angle. Color his trench coat white and give him a stethoscope, and he could easily pass for _Cas MD_. "Your power is growing at an alarming rate. Of that, there is no doubt."

"Why?" Sam asks.

Castiel shakes his head. "I cannot say for sure. It could be that something dormant in your brother has been awakened."

"Like what happened in Virginia?" Sam asks.

Castiel nods. "Something similar, but again, I cannot say for sure. I hate that I am such little help, but I must repeat that there has never been a case quite like yours, Adam."

"Well, can we stop it?" Adam asks.

Castiel shakes his head. "I do not believe so. Even if we were to remove your grace from you, it would likely just return at this point. Your supply seems to be bottomless, and growing by the minute. The cause is unknown," he says, pausing for a second before continuing, "but as far as I can tell, it seems you are regaining the power you held as an Archangel."

Adam gulps. "…uhh, wow."

Sam shares that sentiment. "You just got kicked upstairs, buddy."

Adam grunts at the hated pet-name. Cas gives him the Head Tilt of What-Are-You-Talking-About.

"Forcibly promoted," Sam clarifies. "It's do-or-die time."

That seems to strike a chord with the angel, who nods. "It may well be."

The newly-christened Archangel-to-be gives an impressive eye bulge. "Wait, _what_?"

Castiel simply takes hold of Adam's hand and brings it up to the light, peering at the damaged skin as though he is examining the inner workings of each individual cell. The Winchesters' Guardian Angel continues to study for several seconds, before giving the closest thing to a sigh he is probably capable of. "This is… difficult."

Sam eyes him carefully. "How so?"

"Difficult to explain… to predict… to fix," the angel clarifies. Adam continues to watch him with wide eyes as he speaks. "What you see here is definitely related to his increase in strength. It is, for all intents and purposes, identical to Vessel damage, with one exception." Castiel seems to have difficulty continuing here. The angel is rarely one to spare anyone's feelings, so this can't be anything good.

"Which is?" Sam prods.

The crystal-blue eyes of Jimmy Novak can barely contain Castiel's trepidation as he speaks. "_This_ is no Vessel," he says, gently releasing Adam's hand. "This is your brother. It is his body. In the pit, angel and vessel became one; Adam cannot simply extricate himself from his own flesh."

Oh.

_Oh_.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, Castiel cannot be saying what Sam thinks he is saying. No way.

Sam's mouth is suddenly drier than a Southern town on a Sunday, so Adam steps in and takes charge of the conversation. "What does this mean?" he says, sounding far calmer than he looks.

Castiel turns his mournful gaze over to Adam, and Sam wishes he would stuff away the weepy-eyes because it's starting to annoy him. Cas is acting like Adam is already… already… "It means," the angel says, "that as your power continues to grow, your body will continue to deteriorate." He pauses for a moment, before dropping the proverbial bomb. "It means you are destroying yourself."

Cas has the courtesy to allow a few seconds of silence here so that all involved can soak up the massive bucket of angst that he just dumped on their heads.

Sam's nausea is quickly shuffled offstage in favor of a cold fury. The whole thing just seems mean-spirited, which is something Sam has quickly come to expect from his own life, but Adam before, and Adam _now_, are essentially innocents in this enormous cosmic clusterfuck. The fact that he _still _seems to be getting dragged through the ringer over and over is just stupidly cruel. Pointlessly cruel. Kid-v-ant-hill-with-a-magnifying-glass cruel. And Sam knows that there isn't a goddamn thing he can do to change it—any of it—but that doesn't mean he has to like it, doesn't mean he can't get fucking _furious_ at how needlessly vindictive and vile life can be.

He looks over at Adam, who seems to be suffering from momentary shell-shock, staring unblinking into the pitch-black darkness at the end of the tunnel, and Sam is _this_ close to saying something to comfort him when he witnesses something extraordinary: right before his eyes, Adam pulls a _Dean_, and Sam can literally **see** him take all of his negative emotions, fold them up military-style and lay them neatly into a suitcase, to be closed, locked, and carried with him for the rest of his life. Adam's eyes return to the present and his face sheds all emotion, as though he were sloughing out of a layer of skin. "So," he says towards Cas. "What you're basically saying is… I have angel cancer?"

Castiel seems to consider this for a second. "…the similarities _are_ remarkable. It is essentially one part of you undergoing a spontaneous mutation and uncontrolled growth in such a way that the function of the whole is significantly threatened."

"Huh," Adam says, taking a moment to think about it himself. He'd probably just meant it as a joke, but now that Sam is giving it some consideration, it's a shockingly good metaphor. The little would-be doctor just unconsciously diagnosed himself.

"With the exception that in this case," Castiel elaborates, "instead of getting weaker as the disease progresses, you will become stronger, on a near-cosmic scale, with little-to-no control over the overwhelming power within you."

"Yeah," Adam says, his voice rough and raw. "That's… different." He clears his throat. "How bad do you think that will get, exactly?"

"It is hard to say," Castiel replies, studying him at a distance, seeming like less of a clinical examination and more of a meditation on the _concept_ of Adam. "The specifics are difficult to predict, but I _will_ say that there is a not-insignificant chance of you detonating into an enormous, uncontrolled firestorm of raw angelic energy upon your death."

_**Buh.**_

**What.**

While it is somewhat refreshing to see that Castiel has apparently abandoned his strategy of beating around the bush, Sam realizes now that some things kind of _need_ a build-up beforehand to keep them from literally blowing your mind.

Adam looks like he's choking on a particularly sharp piece of air. "So, I don't just have angel cancer, I have _thermonuclear_ angel cancer. That's… really something."

Castiel winces slightly, as if suddenly being reminded of the effect all of this must be having on the young angel. "If it is any comfort," he says, "I do not believe such an event would be enough to exterminate _all _life on earth." '_Only most of it'_ is implied, of course, because if it's a Winchester, it _must_ be carrying a spare Apocalypse in its back pocket. Apparently, someone has made this a rule.

It takes him a little longer this time, but Adam manages to cram these new revelations into the suitcase alongside the old ones. He is all business when he speaks again. "So, what do we do about this?"

"I do not know," Castiel says, eyes narrowed in deep thought. "I must reiterate, again, that your situation is extremely unique. A human becoming an angel is something that has not happened…" The middle Winchester sees the proverbial lightbulb go off in Cas's head. "…except for one other time."

"One other time?" Sam repeats, interest piqued. Adam has snapped to full attention as well.

Castiel nods, the light returning to his eyes as he speaks. This, at least, assures Sam that there is some hope for them. "Long ago, just before the Flood, there was a righteous, wise man known as Enoch. I was not witness to it personally, but the story is that he had such favor in the eyes of the Lord that two angels who were about to be cast down for their sins sought him out to testify on their behalf. He was brought, bodily, into Heaven, and to the very throne room to testify, where he saw the Face of God. In this doing so, his eyes bore witness to the inner workings of reality in ways that not even most angels were aware of, and he returned to Earth with what he learned. With the knowledge he gleaned from that single moment, he created the language and system of magic that is now known as Enochian."

"Wow," Adam says.

"Wait," Sam interrupts. "I thought Enochian was just the language angels speak?"

Castiel looks at the older Winchester with frank, blunt eyes. "Sam, we _have_ no language, nor do we _speak_ in any way that is analogous to humans unless we are communicating with them. Enochian is nothing less than a translation of angelic _thought_ into words and syllables that can be uttered and invoked by human mouths."

"_Wow_," Sam echoes Adam. "That's… insane."

"And impressive," Adam adds. "You'd have to have some kind of freakish mutant brain to pull off something like that."

Castiel nods. "Enoch was highly intelligent, or so I am told. God was so impressed with his work, and in some telling of the story, so disappointed in his angels that he allowed Enoch to remain on Earth for a few more years before bringing him again into Heaven and transfiguring him into the most powerful of all the Angels, a being second only to God… the High Seraph, Metatron."

Adam snorts.

Castiel gives him a head tilt.

Adam returns the gesture. "Oh, you're serious? That's his _name_?"

"Yes," Castiel replies. "Is there something wrong with it?"

Adam looks ready to elaborate, but as much as Sam would love to see a discussion between his brother and Castiel on theology, _Transformers_, and Kevin Smith films, they need to stay on task. "Cas, why haven't we heard of this guy before? It seems like he would've been a pretty big help during that little 'Apocalypse' thing we had going on a while back." After all, if any angel would understand humanity's standpoint in all this, it should be the formerly human one, right?

"Metatron was at God's side, constantly. I thought that if we found God, surely we would find Metatron along with him. Now, however, I am less sure… Metatron _did_ leave Heaven **after** God."

"Why?" Adam asks.

Castiel turns to him and shrugs. "The flock did not take to him very well. He was above us in the hierarchy, closer to God than even the Archangels, and to top it all off, he was better than we were with _our own language_. Imagine a dog writing a novel superior to the collective works of Shakespeare, and being more beloved and trusted by your own father than your or any of your brothers. The Angels saw him as a tremendous insult, and treated him as such. None would dare to go against him while God was still on his throne, but when He left Heaven, I am told that Metatron followed shortly thereafter in no small part due to several plans to depose and destroy him."

Adam's face is a curious mixture of confusion and disappointment. "But… I'm the same thing, minus the 'close to God' part."

"You are not _exactly_ the same. The Host still sees you as an angel… just one that has undergone a terrible injury. And memory loss."

"In other words," Adam sighs. "They don't see who I am—"

"Just who they think you're _supposed_ to be," Sam finishes. _Ah, little brother, how can I relate to thee? Let me count the ways…_

Adam half-heartedly grins at Sam. "So, how do we find this guy?" he asks, turning back to Castiel.

Castiel looks pensive. "It will not be easy."

"Is it ever?" Sam huffs.

Castiel concedes the point. "The Angels were happy to see Metatron go. Very few had ever even spoken to him, and fewer did so regularly. It is doubtful that anyone cared to keep track of him after he left."

"Maybe we could talk to the angels who knew him?" Adam suggests. "I mean… surely _someone_ liked the guy."

"Therein lies the problem," Castiel replies. "Of the Angels that knew Metatron, two are dead, one has gone into hiding, and one is present in this room."

All eyes turn to Adam, who is uncharacteristically bashful about it, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Hey, don't look at me. If I knew how to find the leader of the Decepticons, I'd have probably iced him by now."

"…I have no idea what you just said. What is a 'Decepticon' and why would you want to freeze it?" Oh, Castiel. How Sam missed him…

"Pay no attention to the giant dork," Sam says, giving Cas a friendly shoulder pat.

Adam looks offended. "Hey. I'm not a giant dork. Just a regular dork. _You're_ the giant, you giant dork."

Sherriff Cas attempts to rally his deputies. "We need to act quickly. There is no way of knowing…" He trails off here, and suddenly, everyone comes crashing back into the reality of the situation.

"No way of knowing how long I'll hold together," Adam offers. He is rubbing his hand where the skin is starting to peel.

"Don't pick at it," Sam says before he can stop himself.

"Yes, _mom_," Adam rolls his eyes.

"I will inform the Host of our situation, and see what help they can offer," Cas says, and Adam's remaining good humor vanishes in a puff of panic.

"Cas, **no**!" he shouts.

"Adam, if the angels are going to help you, they need to know what is at stake," Cas reasons, but Adam is having none of that _rationality_ nonsense.

"**Don't**. Please, Cas, I'm begging you…"

"Dude, what's the problem?" Sam asks.

Adam crosses his arms. "I just don't want them to know."

Castiel gives a more comprehensive answer. "The Flock has great expectations for your brother. They possess a great deal of faith in him, and he cannot stand to disappoint them."

"Cas!" Adam whines. "Jeez, spill all my secrets, why don't ya. Maybe you should tell him what kind of underwear I like while you're at it?"

"Boxer shorts," Cas says to Sam without missing a beat.

"_**Cas!**_" Adam cries.

"Oh," the angel responds. "You were being facetious." His voice sounds sincere, but his face tells Sam that Cas knows exactly what he is doing, and Sam is secretly impressed with him.

"Adam, I know you hate it," Sam tells his little bro, "but we're gonna need all the help we can get on this one. This is, like, the first time in memory that I need more than my fingers to count the people who are actually willing to help us out; we'd be stupid not to use that. This is your _life_, Adam."

Adam continues to pout, looking annoyed for several seconds before finally conceding. "…okay." His eyes find the window, and he stares out into the overcast sky. "What about Raphael?"

"I will attempt to find him myself. It is much to hope for, but I am praying that he can still be reasoned with," Castiel nods.

"And what about us?" Sam asks. "What should we do?"

"Gather as much information as you can. There is no way to tell what we might find useful."

Sam nods. "Got it."

"I will contact you if I learn anything else," Castiel says, vanishing before anyone has a chance to reply. Dean was right. That guy _sucks_ at goodbyes.

Adam just stands at the window, still staring at the miserable monochrome sky. Sam joins him shortly, putting an arm around him. "You okay?" he asks.

The youngest Winchester nods grimly. He is stoic and silent.

Sam just stands with him, staring at the clouds. They seem darker than yesterday.

"I'm gonna blow up," Adam says suddenly.

Sam shakes his head. "No, you aren't. We'll find a way to save you."

"Okay," the angel swallows. "'Cause I don't wanna blow up."

A gentle smile frames Sam's response. "And I don't want you to blow up. So we'll stop it."

The two of them stand together in the silence of the darkening day, taking as much strength from each other as they can. The road ahead looks long, with many a winding turn. It's a good thing they ain't heavy.

"This fucking sucks," Adam says with finality.

Sam can only squeeze his shoulder and pull him closer in response. He feels that sums things up nicely.

* * *

The cell phone stares up at him accusingly. Sam's fingers hover above the keys, but he can't seem to close the gap. _Once a day_, Dean had told him. That was the deal. _I don't care if you do it with a call, text, email, snail mail, carrier pigeon, astral projection, sky writing—__**I don't care**__. If you're doing this, and you're not gonna let me come with you, then you get in touch with me, somehow, at least once a day. I need to go to bed knowing you're alive, Sammy_. And how could Sam say 'no' to that?

It wasn't easy, convincing Dean that he could stay with the family that he had adopted (or that had adopted him, perhaps) while Sam went off to continue saving people, hunting things. But after a long, _long_ negotiation, Dean agreed that Sam was a big boy who could take care of himself, and that he really, truly wanted to settle down and enjoy some fucking _peace_ for once in his life. Sam couldn't agree more—if anyone deserved it, it was Dean.

So Dean agreed to let him go. The only condition attached to him hunting alone was, of course, Dean's 'once a day' corollary. Which he is dangerously close to violating. The madness of the day's events have brought midnight to his doorstep and while he knows he _could_, probably even _should_ call his brother, he also knows that when Dean hears about this latest development, he is going to come running, leaving his hard-won slice of American Pie in the proverbial dust, to be eaten by ants.

Still, if he has learned anything from his life so far, it should be that secrets and lies lead only to disasters, such as becoming Satan's spandex superhero outfit. He looks over towards the house, where Adam is packing away the last of the supplies in the trunk of Sam's car, and with a heavy sigh, presses the 'Call' button and waits for the inevitable.

"_What the fuck, Sam!_" is how the conversation begins.

"Dean…"

"_Are you __**trying**__ to piss me off? You are, aren't you? You're just sitting there staring at the clock, watching it countdown 'til midnight, waiting for __**just**__ the right moment so you can say 'oh, Dean, I totally didn't break the rules, you said once a day, you didn't say __**when**__!' Little jackass."_

"Dean, calm down. Please. I'm sorry I waited so long to call you, I really am, but today has been kind of… hectic."

"_Hectic how? Hectic like blood-squirting-out-of-your-eyeballs-'cause-you-popped-a-vein-in-your-head-from-worrying-about-your-moron-brother hectic?_" Dean's not letting up on the righteous indignation, and Sam's patience is already worn razor-thin. What happens next is kind of inevitable.

"No, hectic like finding-out-my-little-brother-is-a-walking-talking-nuclear-warhead-complete-with-detonator-and-ticking-countdown-clock hectic," he deadpans, and resists the urge to forcibly embed the phone in his skull for being such an _idiot_. Didn't he just mentally berate Castiel for skipping the build-up?

Dean is completely silent on the other end. "_...__**what**__ did you just say?_" he asks, his voice positioned firmly in the calm before the hurricane.

Sam sighs and tries to recover. "This morning when we went out to practice, I saw something on Adam's hand. It was some kind of blister, or abrasion; the skin was dry and peeling off all around it. It looked pretty much like the guy Lucifer was possessing before he crawled into me. We talked to Cas about it, and according to him, Adam is going Archangel, and his body can't handle it."

More silence. Dean is making an effort to keep himself calm; Sam can tell by the way he is breathing on the other end. "_So can't he find another one_?"

"Dean, in case you've forgotten, Adam isn't exactly one hundred percent pure angel. He can't just pop out of his own meat to go shopping for a better model. He's stuck in there."

"_So what the Hell is he supposed to do then?_"

"We don't know," Sam shrugs, even though Dean isn't around to see it. "We're working on tracking down another human-turned-angel to see if he has any helpful hints."

"_And what happens if you can't find him_?"

"We try something else."

"_No, Sam. What happens to __**Adam**__?"_

Sam sighs. The shit is approaching the fan at terminal velocity. Impact is imminent. Please ensure all protective headgear is secured firmly in-place. "If he's lucky, he dies and that's it."

He can hear Dean's teeth grinding. "_And if he's not_?"

"…he goes Critical, and takes a whole lot of people with him."

Call Ended. _**Shit**_.

_To Be Continued…_

A/N: Metatron seemed like an interesting way to expand and elaborate upon the show's mythology. That the language of angels is called 'Enochian' seems to allude to Enoch's existence and invoke that story, but they never actually mention either one, so I had to come up with a decent excuse as to why the High Seraph wasn't brought up until now. Did I do a decent job of setting things up? All reviews are appreciated, as always. More is on the way!


End file.
